Sick Leave
by Jenksel
Summary: Have some Casskins fluff for Valentine's Day, on me!


The nib of the quill pen scratched lightly against the surface of the sheet of paper as Jenkins made notes from the Saxon bestiary spread out before him. He always found the dry _scritching_ sound produced by a quill pen to be rather comforting, and so he preferred to use a quill whenever he could. And it was delightful to be alone in the Annex this morning as well, to have the peace and quiet necessary to hear that soothing sound. It wasn't often anymore that the Caretaker had that luxury, and he took advantage of the opportunities whenever he could. He dipped the quill into the ink well as he took a sip of hot Irish breakfast tea from the bone china cup next to him, then contentedly began writing out the next sentence.

The back door glowed and the doors unexpectedly swung open. The immortal frowned and sighed deeply at the disturbance, dropping the quill into its holder. He should have known this respite was too good to be true. Resigned, he slid off of his stool and ambled slowly to the portal to see who was going to come through. He was surprised to see Cassandra stumble through the doorway, her thin arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face white as a sheet. Jenkins was instantly alarmed.

"Cassandra! What's wrong? Are you injured?" He hurried to her side and slipped one long arm around her waist, his other hand gong to her elbow. The Librarian leaned exhaustedly against the large man.

"No, I'm not hurt, Jenkins," she mumbled, barely audible. "I'm sick!" His eyes widened.

"Sick?" he repeated, concern in his voice. "Were you poisoned? Is it a spell? Did you eat something enchanted? What have I told all of you about..."

"I'm just sick!" she blurted in irritation, interrupting the coming lecture, then caught herself. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," she said repentantly. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I'm not poisoned, I didn't eat anything hexed or anything like that. I'm just sick. Eve says it's probably that flu that's going around right now and she sent me back here!" The Caretaker stopped in his tracks.

"The flu?" he echoed faintly. The Librarian halted and turned to face him, her eyes glassy.

"The flu." She took a deep breath and rubbed her upper arms distractedly. "I didn't feel well this morning when I woke up, but I thought maybe I just hadn't slept well last night. But when I got out with the others on this mission, I just started to feel worse and worse. I finally said something to Eve and she sent me back. She says I have a fever." Jenkins immediately laid the back of his hand on Cassandra's forehead and cheeks. His face took on expressions of worry and apprehension.

"You're burning up, Cassandra!" he exclaimed. "What other symptoms do you have?" She shrugged listlessly.

"I feel cold and achy. Dizzy. Tired. And my head hurts." A violent shiver ran through her suddenly as if in confirmation. Her head suddenly snapped up, and there was a flash of panic in her eyes as she looked up at him.

"And nauseous!" she choked out. She whipped her body away from him, bent over double and vomited her morning's meager breakfast all over the Annex floor. Momentarily stunned, Jenkins simply stared for several seconds, one hand covering his mouth. He quickly recovered himself, though, and rushed to the sick woman's side. He dug his handkerchief out of his pocket and handed to Cassandra as he put a comforting arm around her shoulders. She straightened up and wiped her mouth with the square of cloth, her hand visibly shaking. She again leaned weakly against Jenkins. He tightened his arm around her and began to guide her towards the corridor.

"Come, my dear," he said gently. "You're officially on sick leave, beginning immediately." Cassandra meekly plodded slowly along next to him.

Jenkins's heart went out to his young wife. He remembered how badly he felt when _he_ was sick during that brief span of time when he was mortal. He'd been far more worried and scared during that experience than he'd let on to the others. He'd never been sick a day in his long life before then; the swiftness with which the illness had struck and brought him so low had been incredibly frightening, and he had only had a cold. He knew that influenza was much more serious than a cold, had heard that it could even _kill_ its victims, but he quickly pushed that terrifying thought away for now. Right now poor Cassandra must be feeling frightened and miserable, too, and he needed to be strong and reassuring for her. Colonel Baird and the others had much more experience with this disease than he did; he would consult with them about whether or not Cassandra was sick enough to need a doctor. Until they returned, however, he would watch over his beloved like a hawk. At the first sign of trouble he would rush her to the hospital.

Jenkins led her to their room and helped her to undress. He slipped one of his large pajama tops over her head and then helped her climb into bed. During his own illness he had found an old-fashioned glass thermometer in the back of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He located it again and took her temperature; the thin tube of mercury told him that Cassandra had a temperature of 101. That seemed distressingly high to him, but some quick, surreptitious online searching via her phone reassured him that that number wasn't unusual. It also gave him some suggestions on how to treat it, much to his relief. The knight in him always felt better about a situation if he had a plan of action. He brought her some acetaminophen and a glass of water to drink, then spent several minutes tenderly bathing her hot neck, face and forehead with a cool, damp cloth, reassuring her the whole time that she would be well again soon if HE had anything to say about it.

The sick Librarian smiled to herself; how he fussed over her! Ever since he'd come down with that cold, Jenkins had been hypersensitive to every little sniffle, every little sneeze, every little ache, fearful that it meant an illness had struck her or one of the others. No matter how much she tried to reassure him that, for most people, colds and seasonal allergies and the flu weren't anything to worry about, he was still anxious about her and the others becoming ill. Even though he had never said anything to her about it, she knew how afraid he'd been while he was sick. Until she had to go to team building camp, she spent as much time with Jenkins as possible, discreetly tending to him and assuring him that he was going to be fine. And now the roles were switched. She hoped that he had felt as comforted and loved while he was sick as she did now.

Jenkins finished with the cool cloth and tucked the blankets in around her, bent to kiss her forehead, then turned and began to leave the room.

"I'm sorry about barfing all over the floor," she called out after him quietly, and he turned back to her, laying his hand on her flushed cheek.

"Think nothing of it, my love," he rumbled gently. She reached her hand up and laid it on top of his.

"And I'm sorry about ruining your plans for this evening, too," she said, tears creeping into her voice. "You put so much work into them…" Jenkins merely smiled down at her.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Cassandra. The plans will keep. Just worry about getting some rest and getting well." He took her warm, pale hand in his and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"Now go to sleep now, my heart. You need rest. When you wake up I'll have some nice homemade beef tea waiting for you; we must keep your strength up. And if you're feeling up to it after that, I'll read to you from _Les Liaisons Dangereuses_." He then dropped his voice down to a stage whisper. "Complete with juicy, behind the scenes tidbits from someone who was actually there!" He gave her a roguish wink and Cassandra smiled tiredly back.

"I love you," she murmured, her drowsy lids sliding over her eyes.

"I love you, Cassandra," he whispered fondly as he kissed her cheek. "Happy Valentine's Day, my love." He then turned and quietly slipped from the room.


End file.
